A Shadow in the Night
by Zonicle
Summary: A shadow stalks the darkened streets of Riften with the intent to kill.


I own neither Skyrim nor her people.

There was no moon out tonight, and the stars were concealed behind a thin cover of clouds. The shadows were thick upon the ground, seeming to pool in corners. It was a night for hidden knives and whispers in the dark, a night for desperate actions and the cloying feeling of paranoia.

The people of Riften had learned to read the signs of such a night. To know when it would be safe to steal outside for a quick breath of fresh air, and when such an action was liable to get you killed. When living in this cesspool of thieves and cutthroats, you either learned to survive early on, or never.

No one was outside tonight. They had all sensed the danger like a growing pressure behind their eyes, had smelled the warning on the breeze.

Now, they huddled behind locked doors and shuttered windows, clutching swords and daggers close. Even the night crawlers, thieves and cutpurses desperate enough to sneak into some of the richer houses in search of a few gold coins, had retreated into their holes for the night.

Someone would die tonight, they all knew it. The question was, who?

There was a shadow making its silent way through the winding alleys of the silent town. It made no sound as it walked, and seemed to flicker in and out of existence as it melded into the shadows around it. Moving with a purpose, its steps quick and determined, it approached a rundown wooden building which looked like a strong breeze might tip it over.

The shadow slunk up to the front door, crouching to fiddle with the lock. It came open with a muffled click, and the shadow pushed the door open, slipping inside on soundless feet.

All the lights had been put out, making the orphanage pitch black, but that was no true obstacle for the shadow. Darkness was its friend and constant companion, and had ceased to be a hindrance long ago.

It moved in a crouch, silent and watchful, listening for the creak of wood that would warn of someone's approach. Passing through the main sitting room, stepping around the haphazardly placed toys the younger children had left out, it made its way to the door at the end of the hall.

It stopped just outside the door, ear pressed against the wood, listening for a sign that the room's occupant was still awake. Hearing only the slow, even breathing of one asleep, the shadow pushed open the door, and slipped inside.

Even through the darkness, the shadow knew exactly where it's target lay. Grelod the Kind was sleeping soundly in the bed a few steps from the door. The furs she was wrapped in rose and fell in a steady rhythm, her sleep undisturbed by the room's new occupant.

The shadow contemplated waking her up, it wouldn't be as much fun if she were sleeping. It liked when they screamed, and if she was asleep she wouldn't even know how she had died. A shame, to be sure, but it had to be that way. There were too many eyes here, too many guards. No, waking her up was a bad idea. This was better, less fuss.

The shadow unsheathed the dagger at its hip, the familiar whisper of steel on steel bringing a smile to its lips. It moved to the bed, and in one swift motion wrenched back the matrons head and ran its blade across her throat. She had time to gasp, that one sharp intake of breath her last act, then her blood was staining the pillow red.

The shadow slipped back out the door and into the hall. It moved back through the still silent orphanage, and left through the same door it had entered. Flitting through the darkness, the shadow left the Honorhall Orphanage behind it. Once it judged itself to be far enough away, it slowed its pace and moved more in the open. There was no one around to see it, everyone was locked away inside, hiding.

The shadow loved Riften. All the people knew when to turn away from things that weren't their business, unlike the nosy folk of Solitude or Whiterun. Things were much easier here, though, the shadow would admit, not nearly as much fun.

The shadow left Riften, walking out the gates with a measured, even step, as if it had nothing to hide. It abandoned the unnaturally silent tread it usually employed, and, suddenly, it wasn't a shadow anymore. Just a woman with a tattered black cloak, weatherbeaten and worn. The guards posted at the gate stopped her just long enough to ask where she was going at this time of night, though by their monotone voices she could tell they didn't really care about the answer. She made some excuse about a sick mother who lived on a farm just outside of town who the doctor said might not see the morning. They waved her through almost before she had finished sharing her plight.

Once free of the stink that all cities inevitably reeked of, that stench of too many unwashed bodies, she took a deep breath of the cool night air. No matter where she went, what magnificent castles or sweeping spires she saw, none of it would ever top the raw beauty of the wild.

She could see the mountains from here, almost feel the snow melting on her cheeks.

That's where she would go next, it had been too long since she had last smelled the crisp mountain air. But first, she'd need to stop in Windhelm. There was a boy there who owed her a fair sum for the death of Grelod the Kind.

With her next destination in mind, she approached the edge of the forest where she had tethered her horse. An unobtrusive brown mare, it had served her loyally for almost a year. She patted its nose affectionately, and vowed to get it an apple in the next town they came across.

Mounting, she turned to face the forest path before her, comparing mental maps, and trying to find the quickest route to her destination.

Once she had made up her mind, she set off at a gallop, the wind pushing back her hoad, and setting loose her tangle of unwashed hair. A grin that was just a bit too wide split her face as the wind roared in her ears. Riften shrinking behind her as the sun came up.

By the time the matron of Honorhall Orphanage was found, her killer was long gone.


End file.
